


Every creature responds to light

by oneinspats



Series: coveting desperate things [5]
Category: Discworld
Genre: Death, Don’t copy to another site, Gen, M/M, Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 14:12:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19769896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneinspats/pseuds/oneinspats
Summary: Mericet passes. Downey is honestly surprised that the man was capable of dying and that he feels anything at all about it.





	Every creature responds to light

_Wednesday 1pm, Downey, bored, city council meeting_

> Downey once saw a man get his head blown off a mishap with fireworks he was ten years old the man was older, twenty or twenty-five, his head became crushed persimmons on cobblestones. His head became overripe strawberries caught in fingers a sticky summer afternoon spent with his grandmother and his mother a ghost in the background washing fine, thin china edges coloured Agatean blue. They were a wedding present from her mother. One of the few things she took out of Brindisi when things got bad in Brindisi the way things get bad sometimes for people like them. The man whose head became persimmons and strawberries worked for Downey’s father and Downey’s father was also there he got bits of brain on his face. Downey liked the colour of exploded brain it was the same as the words exaltation and joy.

_Sunday, 4:30pm, Palace Gardens with Useless Fish Pond Downey Dislikes Due to Poor Treatment of Fish_

> What does _yirat_ mean? other than fear and awe and unimaginable bigness of the world. Downey wastes the day with Vetinari. The afternoon in particular, a rare four hours where Vetinari isn’t working, they are in the strange garden around the Patrician’s palace feeding fish little bits of other fish the way you sometimes feed chickens other bits of chicken also dead mice meat scraps refuse from tables uneaten they tear it to shreds. The fish have delicate mouths and so do not tear shreds but gulp gobble suck back flakes that have bits of their dead relatives in them. Because it’s an afternoon with Vetinari the conversation has become gauzy. They began _how is such-and-such_ and _I have opinions about the new scheme for waste management_ and _Downey I value your opinions but this isn’t the time_ and _Fine but let me tell you one more thing_ so now they’re abstract. Vetinari ponders words and their origins a past-time of his when content. Downey can’t help much. He says _yirat_ makes him think of mangoes small yellow ones that you can sometimes get in Ankh-Morpork though perhaps only one out of ten hasn’t rotten through so when you hold it and gently squeeze the pit comes through to scrape your palm. 

_Sunday, 10:30PM, Master of the Assassins Guild’s Office, Downey Contemplating What to Read Next_

> And anyway what use is a man who is older than the concept of heaven, _shamayim_ , a rich soil brown he looked as old as the disc’s foundations when he was teaching Downey and now he’s dead which is perhaps a minor miracle considering Downey was certain Mericet would never die. The man was old how Gods and thunderstorms are old which is to say old in the everlasting sort of way how mountains were once seabeds and now they’re in the sky full of plesiosaurs and crustaceans. He’s seen fossils at the Ankh-Morpork Natural History Museum which he takes the fourth years to arms full of worksheets fingers grey from pencil-crayons they smear their answers when they shove their work into bags. It comes to Downey crumpled and neglected because fifteen-year-olds generally can’t manage tidiness. Mericet met Downey on Downey’s first day at the Guild nine years old in scratchy breeches terribly frightened to be away from home and Mericet said _pull your stockings up, boy. Assassins must always look the part._

_Monday, 3:30am, Awake Trying with Great Effort to Sleep_

> Eight years old and two months seven days Downey walked along Grace-Church to Harry Schute’s house to knock on the green door to see if Harry was about and if he was did he want to make havoc somewhere like a block or two over near Yossi’s because Yossi was a scag and deserved to be beaten up. But he never made it to the door because there were Watchmen everywhere and Downey shied away from glinting uniform armour a shell a cage a surface with no reflection despite the mirror-ability of chest plates. Annette ran over and pulled him back shouting that he shouldn’t go out without warning he shouldn’t go out without her or his father was he stupid did he want to give her heart failure did he never think was he daft how could he think to walk down the street to Harry Schute’s how could he think to do that scaring her half-to-death then she stood on the door stoop and hugged him very tightly and cried and Downey was embarrassed so squirmed until she let go. 

_Tuesday, 4:58pm, Assassin’s Guild Crematorium_

> The dead slack-jawed wide eyed stiff limp full of gas. Wire mouths shut before funerals push eyelids down onto tiny pins glued to bottom lids. Stab top lids down with force. Make them stay they must stay no one wants eyes opening at a wake and if they don’t stay apply glue but only a little then cover it all with copious foundation purchased from the same shops mollies and streamstresses go to in order to gussy themselves up into something they’re not which is what you do to a body before you display it you’re making it what people think death should look like not what death actually looks like. Mericet has no family. It is a quiet affair. Cremated his ashes are sequestered away in the dark dry corners of the guild where urns go to be forgotten. 

_Tuesday, 11:45 pm, Patrician’s Palace_

> They fuck across Vetinari’s desk in Vetinari’s bedroom because it seems the best way to spend a sultry summer night sweating into one another. Though Vetinari dislikes sweating, it makes him deeply uncomfortable, he has professed he doesn’t mind it for short duration so long as he can wash after. Downey's face pressed against worn mahogany he can price based on the quality of the cut the brass handles on drawers the shape of legs how long it took a carpenter to plane it stain it wax it make it shine in firelight but he isn’t thinking about that because Vetinari is balls deep inside of him thrusting with hand holding Downey’s head down as if he would dream of moving and _gods_ he adores fingers digging into skin tugging on hair the way their bodies sound together frantic like they’re not going to live if they stop he would gladly lie here forever getting fucked forever if that weren’t an absolute impossibility besides Vetinari would get bored and wander off which would defeat the purpose he wants to spend himself over his hand he wants to spend himself over Vetinari’s hand he wants to spend himself over this beautiful desk that has probably witnessed a not insubstantial amount of murder considering it was here during Snapcase’s time. Vetinari, fully inside Downey, draped over him, a bone-prodding experience, pulls Downey off hissing into Downey’s ear about what a pretty whore he makes and what a delicious sight he is bent over like this and other things Downey isn’t concentrating on because he’s too busy trying to thrust into Vetinari’s hand but can’t quite move because he’s between desk and Vetinari’s body and then he’s coming Vetinari’s fingers in his mouth to keep him quiet and Vetinari is making obscene noises buried against his neck then they are still. So very still. 

_Wednesday 10:45pm, Mericet’s Office Downey’s in Nightshift and Robe with Stockings at Ankles._

> There is a lot of paper an entire lifetime’s worth in a single office it overwhelms reams of dust he coughs as he pulls up files from thirty years ago, forty. How old was the man? Downey hasn’t managed to find a birth certificate or record of any kind. No naming ceremony, no temple blessing in any denomination, nothing to indicate origins. He is ash so cannot be dated by teeth or other means of determining age from flesh. Downey sits in the middle of an old Klatchian rug and pulls over a box of Guild yearbooks he hopes for a clue. Digs deep into the box, then the next, and next, the oldest he finds is from twenty years before he was born and there, in the fine block print of the time, is someone who bears the name J.L. Mericet. Downey squints at the picture but the boy in yellowing relief on the page bears no resemblance to the man he knew. He closes the book and sets it aside for later. 

  
  
_Friday, 9:30am, Guild Hallway Between Classes Downey Must Stop and Readjust Boot Lacing_

> The first person Downey cremated was an unnamed Assassin whose body was deposited at the back of the guild so done in identification was impossible. Downey smelled of smoke for the entire afternoon and when he ran into infamous Dog-Botherer the other young man just pointed to his own cheek and said _you’ve got something_ which was a bit of the unnamed assassin. Downey tried to wipe him off only to smear the dead man further. The first person whose name he remembers was Atulus Larkin, known as Birdy, who was a floater done in somewhere queue-side after having fallen on bad times then fell out with bad people then found himself in a bad way. Learning how to cremate is one of the requirements of the guild. Not every assassin will be cremated but every assassin knows how to cremate. 

_Tuesday, 2:16pm, Mericet’s Office_

> A stack of letters in Mericet’s office are branded with the name _Harriet Wilson_ in structured hand above an address in a neighbourhood that doesn’t exist anymore it’s been renamed so many times since whenever these letters were written they are soft brown whispers of something secret therefore something sacred the words are cousins to each other in Ankh-Morkporkian. _Qdš_ slides off tongue hushed sound the root for holiness sacred spaces rituals sanctuary all of is secret separate known to those within. One time he described the Guild to his mother as _miqdash,_ a holy space, temple, she became sternness for that isn’t right he should know better but he never learned his lessons as well as he ought to have was Harriet Wilson _miqdash_ for Mericet? Or was she potential of all of that? Words built out from _qdš_ fill with meaning betrothal making holy sacred dedicated and devoted old town names from places he’s never seen. Mericet wrote over thirty letters to Harriet Wilson Downey wants to read them but they are not his to read. Downey wants to know the woman who captured Mericet’s attention a man so impartial disinterested dry quiet discreet it’s a marvel he left imprints on the world around him the way leaves sometimes leave fossil prints but mostly don’t dissolving into brackish mire of earth. 

_Tuesday, 7:10pm, Master of the Assassins Guild’s Office Downey is Trying to Work_

> Relegating Mericet to the past seems cruel he was here not a week ago breathing he was here not a week ago walking moving existing in the same space as all the living not quite living differently alive potential to be living. A hot bright afternoon the sun a cutlass across sky Mericet walked into Downey’s office, _I might contemplate retirement soon_ and Downey said _You’ve been saying that since I was a boy._ Then Mericet said that it’s alright then isn’t it everything turned out better than one could hope and Downey had no idea what he was on about but Mericet seemed content if not outright happy so Downey didn’t wish to disturb so Mericet left and the door didn’t close all the way Downey could hear shoes on marble until he couldn’t anymore. Guild matters gather in piles he organizes based on priority talking to Mericet as he works. 

_Friday, 1:30am, Downey’s Bedroom Dogs Scratching at Door Unloved and Neglected_

> Downey makes irreverent jokes when they fuck on Fridays and Vetinari suffers through them with quiet dignity which Downey delights in he likes kissing Vetinari when he is Suffering with Dignity it makes the man more resolute in his desire to appear unphased by Downey’s nonsense. Downey declares Vetinari to be an absolute brick to which Vetinari raises both eyebrows and replies Well then. He adds that it is perhaps one of the better compliments Downey has bestowed upon him, now that he has considered it. He likes that he is a brick. This pleases him immensely. He says all of this with his usual impassive face so Downey isn’t sure if he is jesting or not because one never knows if Vetinari is jesting or not.

_Sunday, 11:11am, Downey Would Argue That This is Not Deliberate Work_

> Downey recalls a list he once made of all the men he wished were his father instead of his real father it included Mr. Zdero Guild Cremator, Dr. Tindel, Dr. Follett in a pinch, Ludo’s father, Willis’ Great Uncle, Mr. Shirreli who taught Dance and Deportment but never Mericet which feels like a betrayal of young Downey to forever-old Mericet even though Mericet would not have welcomed being included on such a list. Mericet never spoke of his own family Downey found them after Mericet died and they were all dead too so Downey supposes none of it mattered. He is checking today about Harriet Wilson a disastrously common name but even in the old neighbourhood, renamed many times since Mericet’s writing to her, and no one knows a Harriet Wilson not now, not thirty or forty years ago. Mericet’s father, or the man Downey thinks was Mericet’s father, was named Maurice and the mother Marie-Rose both beautiful names of pink gin and silver gold. He keeps Mericet’s letters to Harriet Wilson, burns most everything else personal, and has the office cleaned for the next person to assume his position. When the time is right. 

  
_Tuesday, 10:50am, Hallway Outside First Floor Classrooms Downey was Waiting For Lady T’Malia to Finish for Her Class had Run Over_

> Mr. Timothy Quimper, head of the Tree Frog House, asks _Was he inhumed, sir?_ Downey replies, _I hardly think so. Give no credence to rumours, Mr. Quimper._ Mr. Timothy Quimper shrugs, loose movements of gangly youth, _I only ask because someone was running a book on it, sir._ Downey tsks then tells the boy to get on to class or he’ll be late. Later he drags a Mr. Richard Darvish into his office and students say they could hear Dr. Downey raise his voice which is something _never done._

_Wednesday, 12:30pm, Downey Taking Lunch in Office Ignoring CVs of Those Qualified to Fill Empty Space Down the Hall_

> When Downey first collected butterflies he bought a beautiful display case and carefully organized the entire system based on the latest taxonomy books to hand and the rows were serene in their clarity and orderliness. Each butterfly he documented with care and filled notebooks with his observations. Eventually he moved onto moths and treated them with as much tenderness as his butterflies. He had several cases hung up and then boxes of them. Eventually he moved on to keeping them in one of the labs where an indulgent Dr. McDonald felt it was a good deal better a hobby for Downey to be in than the mischief making he had been prone to before. Not that the mischief stopped, but it was somewhat reduced. His mother called moths _ash_ as in _ahsh_ the colour of fireworks red shot through with gold yellow orange purple he wrote it out on the base of his display case and every time he saw fluttering grey bodies hovering soft pink of common moths that eat wedding dresses he would think of fireworks and pomegranates and exaltation and joy. 

_Wednesday, 2:00am, Patrician’s Palace_

> _It’s a matter of saying goodbye_ Vetinari hypothesises they’re in bed sharing a fag on Downey’s stomach rests a teacup to ash in there’s a small pastoral scene a shepherd and shepherdess in blue Agatean blue Downey remembers giving it Vetinari when they were young well not giving so much as forgetting it when he came to harass the man about something. _You kept this teacup?_ and Vetinari tells him to not prevaricate he is attempting to quell Downey’s apprehensions about having emotions over Mericet’s death which is something Downey thinks he should feel little about _Look I felt less when my father died_ to which Vetinari says _Well your father has never sounded like he was worth much of anyone’s time or energy_ and Downey owns this to be true. Vetinari meditates aloud about the nature of farewells dwelling on Klatchian customs and Genuan poetry he monologues until he doesn’t anymore and the fag is done and it’s quiet with humid summer fog hanging low over city it’s physical that wetness how close it is how it touches skin hair clothes. Downey got lost in it once when he was sixteen angry storming out of house shouting _I hate you and never want to see you again and if I die you’ll be sorry_ or something equally dramatic he walked until he became tired then kept going until he didn’t know where he was until he saw a familiar face wizened oak bark Mericet appeared a smokey apparition of black on grey fog he said, _You shouldn’t be in this part of town boy. But as you’re here, help me carry this._ So Downey trailed after him carrying a large bag full of things he never asked about until they passed Grace-Church and Mericet said, _ah I forgot something. But you head home. I’m content to go on alone from here._


End file.
